


Language!

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff, Funny, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Q has tinkered with his automatic vacuum. It now voices it's unhappiness. Seriously, the Teen and Up rating is solely for the language.





	Language!

Q's flat had, early on, become Bond's second home. No, that was a misnomer. He kept some of his belongings at the flat that was nominally his but actually lived at Q's place. It was a bit old fashioned on the surface with dark wood trim and glass door knobs but the tech installed was definitely Q branch level excellent and the furnishings were comfortable and practical. Bond had gradually 'left' items of his here and it was convenient not to have to run back to his flat when he stayed overnight. Truthfully, that had become every night he wasn't out of the country. Was he becoming domestic? He found he didn't really mind if he was. It was worth it to wake up in Q's bed and start the day with a round of lazy lovemaking. Oddly, both of them tended to save the more energetic efforts for the evenings and then straighten the bed so they could spend time reading or talking. Mornings were for slow and thorough and they generally went to work with satisfied smiles. People were beginning to notice but no one had yet raised the question with either of them. 

This morning Bond wasn't required to be in the office before noon. He had planned a few errands for the morning after Q left for his earlier start. This morning Q had been distractedly talking to R on the phone as he juggled his bag, his tea, and his coat. He had given Bond an absent minded kiss as he passed the table on his way out the door. Bond had called out to be careful, receiving a quirky smile and a wave with the travel mug of tea as the door closed. He shook his head and returned to scanning the day's news. Q had finally convinced him a tablet was more practical than getting a physical paper. He still bought the odd issue since he had never found anything that was an effective substitute when cleaning weapons but he did most of his catching up on the tablet Q had modified for him. 

Bond had been sitting with his second cup of coffee for perhaps twenty minutes when a series of electronic beeps intruded on the silence. These were followed by a click and a soft humming noise that seemed to be progressing around the kitchen. He caught a flash of movement and focused on a small flat topped round shape which meandered along following a reasonably straight line until it bumped the cabinet under the sink. It distinctly said, “Shit!” and rolled away beeping maniacally and heading for the refrigerator. It impacted there and caromed off with a resounding, “Bugger!” as it headed off on another tangent. 

It was one of those robotic hoovers. He'd seen them before, of course. He'd never had the need for one so hadn't paid all that much attention to the phenomenon. Still, he was reasonably certain that the factory models didn't use profanity and certainly not in a familiar voice, his own voice.

The little machine appeared to have completed it's navigation of the kitchen and ventured into the lounge. Here it had a bit more scope, the floor area being larger but Bond continued to watch, amused, as it cursed and reoriented itself every time it encountered a wall. He had turned the kitchen chair around to watch the show. The cats seemed to be a non issue. As it hummed busily toward them, they moved gracefully out of the way finding refuge on the sofa back and the window ledge. Bond was reduced to a full on fit of laughter as the befuddled robot encountered a cushion blocking access to the underside of the sofa and came to a halt. It whirred, spun, chirped and then began to spew out a profane stream of every term it had at it's disposal. “Bloody, buggering, motherfucking, cock sucking, son of a bitch whore's bastard. Bond was reasonably certain he had never strung together quite so many expletives at once. Q had, seemingly, taken great pains to dub together a wide assortment of comments from various of his missions that had gone tits up for whatever reason. This was absolute creative genius.

Bond advanced to where the little machine was still bumping at the cushion, uttering a distracted sounding, “Sod it!” He nudged it to one side and replaced the cushion on the chair it was meant to occupy. Then he pulled out his mobile and opened the camera, setting it to video record. And began to systematically step in front of the vacuum, blocking it. It bumped off his shoes and then the wall. “ Bloody hell!”it muttered irritably. He waited a moment for it to to be in position then trapped it between his feet, the wall and the TV stand. A few clicks and spins ensued before it beeped frantically and then erupted in another torrent of filthy language. Bond restrained his hilarity as he continued to record, eventually allowing the machine to escape. If it had possessed a face, he was sure it would have glared at him reproachfully. It spun, beeped, and headed back to the kitchen, docking itself with a final, “Fuck you! directed at the world in general and Bond in particular. 

Bond couldn't recall the last time he had had such childish fun and the fact that the machine used his own voice was somehow insanely more hilarious. He attached the video to a message and sent it to Q with a '?' as the only text. A few moments later his phone beeped. It was a text from Q. 'Why are you torturing my electronics?' He immediately sent back, 'Why does the hoover curse in my voice?' There was a delay and then a very flat response. 'Because I programmed it that way.' 

Bond was convinced Q was evading. Even over text, he could tell. He decided it was best to leave it for the moment. 'I'm off to the shops. Need anything?' The response was more prompt this time. 'Those raspberry and chocolate biscuits if they have them.' Bond smiled. Q had a sweet tooth and Bond had eaten the last of the fancy biscuits the day before, resulting in an epic pout on Q's part. Of course, Q denied it was pouting. According to him he was merely absorbing the disappointment of finding an empty biscuit box. 

The shops weren't busy. Bond made quick work of the list and added a few treats to make Q happy. He stopped at the cleaners to pick up his suits and dropped everything at the flat before heading off to headquarters. He knew Q was sequestered in meetings for a large portion of the day so he busied himself in the office he rarely used, making corrections and completing reports. He presented himself at Q branch promptly at 1730, smiling at the stir he caused among the employees. Q poked his head out of his office and then ducked back in. He reemerged with his coat on and his bag over his shoulder. He paused to speak to R who was coming on for the late shift and then met Bond at the door. Neither of them said a thing as they headed for the lift. 

There was no conversation until they reached the car. Q slid into the passenger seat and, as he was buckling his belt, commented, “We'll talk about it this evening. I've had a trying day as it is and I need to gather my thoughts.” Bond nodded agreeably as he exited the garage and headed for home at an efficient but not breakneck pace.

Dinner was Bond's turn to cook and Q used the time to deal with the cats and check his personal email. They cleaned up afterward together, about as quietly domestic as any other couple. Bond reflected that ten years ago he would never have seen himself here. He was seriously hoping he hadn't ruined whatever it was they had by teasing Q about the damned robot. He was showered and in bed reading, or attempting to, when Q emerged from the bath, scrubbing a towel through his hair. Without any preamble he began to speak. “I'm sure you'll consider it ridiculously sentimental so I never told you. When you're in the field and I'm on comms, I listen to everything. When you start cursing, I know you're frustrated and annoyed but you're okay. So long as I hear that, I know you're all right.” He looked over at Bond as though he expected a joke. Bond just nodded acknowledgment. Q continued.. “I find I have more trouble at home alone. I saw a video of some fellow who adapted his little robot vacuum to curse, it's a simple process. I had the idea to record your voice and set up the one here to do the same. You probably only heard it today because we leave together most mornings. I set the timer to run mornings when we're generally at work. But if I'm home, I'll hear it and smile a bit and remind myself you're okay.” 

Bond pulled Q into his arms and settled back against the pillows. “Maybe it is sentimental. I don't really care much if it helps you. My job is hard. I often think you have a harder one. Not physically perhaps, but you know when things go wrong in the field but can't directly do anything. I'd have a difficult time with that.”

“You don't think I'm being silly?” Q said seeking more reassurance. 

“Not at all. Mind you, I spent years in the Navy learning to curse that fluently. It was quite entertaining to hear that little machine spouting off in my voice.”

Q wriggled a little closer. “You know you almost never use that language around me. The only time I hear it is over comms.”

“Well, I tend not to use it unless I need to. And situations outside of missions rarely go as bad as all that. I guess my bar is set a little higher than average.” Bond snickered. “I could help you improve the hoover though. It doesn't take advantage of my versatility to only use one language. Did you know I can curse fluently in Russian and French?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes the cursing roomba exists. I saw a youtube of someone who modified one to curse when obstructed.


End file.
